


Pinky Promise

by raumschiffe



Series: meanwhile, on baker street [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Alternate Universe, Babysitter AU, Fem!John - Freeform, Gen, Kid!Lock, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:24:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raumschiffe/pseuds/raumschiffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(For the <a href="http://ericandy.tumblr.com/post/26596382488/ericandys-30-day-otp-challenge">30 Day OTP Challenge</a>)</p><p>In which Sherlock is left in the capable hands of Joan Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinky Promise

**Author's Note:**

> this one's the kid!sherlock okay (and i'm sorry i think of shit titles and even shittier summaries)
> 
> sherlock does not belong to me //weeps
> 
> Day 1: Holding Hands

"Thank you very much for doing this, Joan," Mycroft Holmes paced about the house with his suitcase in tow, the woman he was addressing standing to the side. "I won't be gone for long. My number's posted on the refrigerator if you need to contact me."

He then turned to the sulking eight-year-old beside Joan. "Now Sherlock, be a good by for Joan, would you?" The little boy only scowled.

"Mycroft, you _know_ I don't need someone to watch over me!" He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly upset. "Better yet, take me with you!"

Mycroft smiled down at his little brother, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. That was how it was nowadays. "I would if I could," he ruffled Sherlock's dark curls, so unlike his own. "Now why don't you work on that experiment I told you about, hmm?" The mere mention of science brought a twinkle to Sherlock's eye, but just a hint. He _'hmph'_ -ed and quickly gave his brother a hug around his legs and dashed upstairs.

Mycroft sighed and ran his fingers through his own light blond hair. If he does this any more, he swears he'll be bald before he reaches forty. "Sherlock can be, ah, difficult sometimes. You'll need to be patient with him."

"I'm sure I can handle him," Joan smiled at him reassuringly.

"I better leave," he murmured, wheeling his suitcase out. "Goodbye, Joan. Please take good care of him."

And the door slammed shut without another word.

\---  
 _Go up, turn left, third door to the right,_ Joan thought. She was grateful for the directions left by Mycroft. With a house as big as this, it was easy to get lost.

"Sherlock?" Joan called as she knocked on the door. When she didn't receive an answer, she went in anyway and the sight before her made her eyes widen and her jaw to slack.

There was a great oak table by the side (and queerly, a refrigerator beside it), where Sherlock was perched on a chair. The table was large enough to seat eight, and it was cluttered with jars and bottles of various sizes (was that - was that a _severed head?!_ ), several microscopes, petri dishes and beakers filled with god-knows-what and lots of other things usually seen in laboratories.

"If you're wondering about the head," Sherlock piped up, not even bothering to raise his head from the microscope, "it was a gift from Mycroft. He got it from Bart's morgue."

His bed was pushed to the side, looking as if it has hardly been slept in. Books and papers with indecipherable scribbles were scattered on the floor, and Joan felt as if she was treading through land with hundreds of thousands of landmines buried underneath as she made her way to Sherlock's side.

"Can you do me a favor and put the head in the refrigerator?" Sherlock pointed to the refrigerator. "I'm studying the coagulation of saliva after death." He said this as if it was the easiest thing to do and Joan was awestruck at this. Sherlock was far smarter than Mycroft said he would be.

She got the jar holding the head and gingerly put it where she was instructed to put it. She was studying medicine, and blood and severed limbs didn't bother her (except for the fact that both were in an _eight-year-old's_ room).

"I'm speculating you're studying medicine?"

Joan whirled around, taken rather aback by the question. "Excuse me?"

"You're studying medicine, right? You want to be a doctor?" Sherlock stated again, his almost translucent blue-green-gray eyes looking at her inquisitively. He hopped from his chair. "You didn't seem to be bothered by the head, which means you're used to seeing blood and severed limbs. Maybe you even practiced doing amputations." He seemed quite excited about the idea. 

"What if I said that I was taking up criminology?" After all, that course _did_ work with corpses and such.

"Highly unlikely," he stated as-a-matter-of-factly and took her hand. "See here? There's a line where the skin's tougher, which suggests that you held a thin slicing device and used it frequently. Can't be cuisine since the knives are much bigger." Sherlock prattled on and on on how she could be a doctor in the making, and Joan was rendered speechless at this point.

" _That_ was brilliant, Sherlock!" Now it was the eight-year-old's turn to look surprised. "Bloody brilliant, really. I ca - Sherlock, is something the matter?"

Sherlock quickly avoided her gaze and found the floor suddenly very interesting. "That's not what people usually say," he offered a small, shy smile.

"What do they usually say then?"

"Piss off."

Joan laughed. "They're probably just jealous they're not as smart as you," she patted his cheek affectionately."Now, go back to studying the coagulation of saliva after death, yeah? I'm going down to get some tea, do you want anything?" Sherlock said he wanted some biscuits and did as she said, with renewed fervor.

"Oh, and Sherlock?" The little boy looked up. "You're absolutely correct."

And there started the unlikely friendship of Joan Watson and her eight-year-old charge, Sherlock Holmes.

\---

 _"Bored!"_ was the shrill cry that echoed around the manse, followed by several gunshots. Mrs. Hudson, the kindly old housekeeper, quickly alerted Joan of this habit of Sherlock's, shooting the wall when he was bored.

"Sherlock!" Joan ducked into the room, only to get an eyeful of a bullet-ridden wall. "Sherlock, what in _blazes_ do you think you're doing?!"

"I'm bored, Joan!" Sherlock yelled. "Bored, bored, _bored_!" He punctuated each word by delivering a bullet to the poor wall.

The medical student all but ran to Sherlock's side and wrestled the gun from the eight-year-old's grasp. How Sherlock here got ahold of a gun befuddled her, but her main concern was turning the safety on and emptying the gun of bullets. _Clang, clang, clang_ the little metal shells went as they hit the floor.

"Sherlock, you could've hurt someone!" Joan scolded, but Sherlock simply threw himself on the bed, mumbling how the people who worked here knew not to enter when he was bored.

"If you haven't heard, I'm _bored_ , Joan! Every minute that passes makes my brain rot!" He growled and screamed in his pillow. It's been five days since Mycroft's sudden departure, and Sherlock had already finished all of the experiments left by his older brother. Joan seated herself on a plush armchair with an exasperated sigh. It was the first time she dealt with Sherlock's mood swings.

"What do you propose we do then?" She picked up the first book on the pile beside the chair. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , it read. Joan didn't take Sherlock as a lover of magic and lore. Then, a very warm (and kinda heavy) weight settled on her lap, temporarily knocking her breath away.

"Read to me," the child genius demanded, fixing his eyes on her, as if daring Joan to defy him.

She rolled her eyes and adjusted the curled up little genius on her lap, so that her chin was perched on those soft dark curls and her arms were wrapped around him. Sherlock - in turn - tugged her left arm around him so that he was _cradled_.

So she read. She read and read and read.

At some parts, Sherlock would let out a snort at parts that depicted magic or anything of its sort, but kept quiet for majority of the time. By the time she reached the third chapter, she found her little charge with his cheek against her shoulder, snoring softly. Trying not to jostle little Sherlock awake, she put the book down and moved him to her hip as she stood. "J-Joan," he yawned, fixing his groggy nearly translucent eyes on her solid blue ones. "Why'd - Why'd you stop?"

She laid him down gently on the bed and pulled off his robe, revealing striped blue pajamas. Joan had to stifle a giggle at the cuteness of it all. "Go to sleep, love," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. It was as soft and fluffy as she thought it would be.

Sherlock mumbled an argument and Joan laughed. He grabbed her hand and held it against his chest, close to his heart. "Stay," he mumbled, big _bluegreengray_ eyes and all. "Please?"

The innocent request kindled a protective sort of love in Joan, one which made her want to ensure his happiness and safety for the rest of her life, even if it meant risking it. She took off her shoes, slipped beside Sherlock and drew the covers over their shoulders. Not once did Sherlock let go of her hand.

"Promise me you won't leave?" It sounded strange, coming from him. For the past few days, all Joan had heard from him were his intelligent hypotheses and all of his scientific jargon, and the question - no, _request_ \- reminded her how much of a child Sherlock really was.

"I promise."

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~i'm sorry i really don't know what i'm doing djhfagbaj~~ yeah my hc for kid!sherlock is that he's kinda clingy and stuff yeah and mycroft's the total big brother type before he decided to work for the government
> 
> btw not gonna update everyday (´◕ω◕`)


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